The Twilight herald

Isak smiled. From Lahk, that was as close to humour as you could hope for, and he appreciated the effort. He knew full well it would be hard for the general to treat a young man of barely eighteen summers the same way he had the lord he had revered and served for more than half a century. Isak remembered his harsh words to Lahk on the road to Lomin the previous year and felt a pang of shame, but he knew there was no going back. The best he could do was start afresh, and if the man once found unworthy of Isak's previous title could manage it, Isak would too.

'I have,' Isak replied in a bright voice, 'but I'll never complain about having the Ghosts or you at my side.'

Carel raised a hand to signal the halt down the line and Isak slipped from his horse. He returned the general's formal greeting, then stepped closer and grasped Lahk's forearm. Lahk was still a very large man, but Isak was taller now. For a brief moment Isak thought he saw something like gratification in Lahk's eyes, relief that the new Lord of the Farlan might yet measure up.

'This is the first time I've seen you in your own colours.'

'It didn't seem appropriate to use any other's, and I did not wait to have a replacement made. I hope you don't take offence that the regiments I brought had no alternatives to wear.'

'Replacements?'

'Yes, my Lord.' Lahk looked puzzled for a moment. 'The Palace Guard will need a new uniform now, in your own colours.'

'What? No!' Isak exclaimed in dismay. 'Don't change their uni¬forms!'

'But they are your personal legion, my Lord, not independent; they can't wear another man's colours in your service. It would be unseemly

– quite aside from what the rest of our people might think. We must

never give the impression that the Ghosts are not completely loyal to

you.'

'I don't give a damn how it would look. I've spent most of my life dreaming of wearing that uniform. I know the pride they take in it

– as does the rest of the tribe – and I don't care what anyone else

thinks; I won't insult the men who died for that ba

redundant. The Ghosts wear the colours they've had for the last two

centuries. Tell them I never got my chance to pass the trials for the

Guard and I've got to have something to aspire to. Whenever I need

a close guard, then they will have to wear my colours – but that will

just be a company of men drawn from the Ghosts.'

Lahk's face was a blank mask, but Isak guessed at the conflict going on under the surface. Eventually, he cleared his throat and bowed. 'A company, yes, my Lord. I'm sure they will appreciate the gesture.'

'The regiments are camped in the meadows behind the castle? Send someone to direct the cavalry there and get them camped.'

He turned towards the noblemen waiting patiently behind the general. Their host was a half-pace ahead of the others, a grey-haired man slightly stooped by advancing age. 'Suzerain Foleh, would you do me the honour of showing me to your most unpleasant cell? You have an unexpected guest.'

Returning from the privy, Isak turned down the brightly lit corridor hack to the castle's main hall and stopped. On his left he spotted a small, unassuming arch leading to a spiral stair. Half-covering it was a flag, suspended from a rail fixed at the very top of the stone wall. Isak was sure it hadn't been like that when he'd come this way. His need had been pressing, admittedly, thanks to rather a lot of Suzerain Foleh's excellent ale, but his mind wasn't fuddled yet. One of the servants must have just gone through and forgotten to pull the flag hack after him.

Never one to ignore his curiosity once piqued, Isak leaned through the gap and peered upwards. A single torch at the top illuminated the way, hut aside from well-worn flagstones and a musty scent there was nothing to see. With his customary stealth, the Duke of Tirah padded up the stair, which wound round a full circle before opening out on a dim, square room.

The beams in the ceiling were low compared to the rest of the cas-tle, a finger-width from his hair. A banister ran around a wide square hole in the floor that made the room more of a gallery than anything else. Leaning on the banister were two men, one Isak recognised as Suzerain Foleh's steward, and another liveried man. Both were staring intently down to the hall beneath, pointing at the table and the folk helow. The steward said something, and his companion nodded and straightened up. He gave a cough of alarm when he saw Isak.

The steward's eyes widened as be followed his companion's gaze, but Isak motioned for them to be calm. The servant hovered uncertainly, glancing to his left, where two pitchers of wine stood on a small table, and Isak suddenly realised where the man had been going. Then were no servants in the room helow, yet the goblets had remained lull the entire evening. Isak stepped away from the stair and gestured for the servant to continue, which he did with a hasty how. He looked relieved to he leaving.

Isak leaned on the rail as the men had.and looked down to see hiis di

'Thank you,' Isak whispered.

The steward bowed and, when Isak gestured at the rail next to him, hesitated for a moment, then resumed his position beside the lord of his people. Isak had to stifle a smile; he'd never seen a man lounge in quite so formal a way, but he was begi

'What's your name? You've been in Suzerain Foleh's service a long time?' Isak asked, too quietly to be heard by those below.

'Dupres, your Grace, my name is Dupres. I have spent my life working in this castle, and I have been steward to the suzerain for six summers.'

Dupres was a man not long past forty, Isak judged, with a widow's peak and worry-lines around his eyes. He had seen the man earlier, constantly at his master's elbow, discreet, but anticipating his every need.

'You serve him well; I have seen few servants so attentive.'

'Thank you, my Lord.'

From below, the voice of the Countess of Lehm caught Isak's atten¬tion. He leaned further over the banister to hear the conversation better.

'Count Vesna, has Lord Isak said what he intends to do with Duke Certinse?'

'He's going to put the man on trial, of course.' Vesna's response was curt. He hadn't liked her tone any more than Isak had. She was Heading a careful line, for speaking about Isak while he was absent was a discourtesy most nobles wouldn't dare. Isak knew the customs of the nobility were still largely a mystery to him, but he had begun In recognise the formal ways in which a person of noble birth would couch a completely opposite request.

'And you have not counselled him against this?' Against it? Let the traitor hang, that's what I say.'

Isak couldn'l yet work out if the countess was either stupid and in-sulting, or if she was carefully positioning herself to make some point, that Vesna would later tell him in private.

But is that wise in the long term?' The other voices around the table had fallen away, every face was watching the exchange as in-tnently to as Isak.

'How would it not be wise, my Lady?' enquired Tila. 'Duke Certinse is undoubtedly a traitor. He ambushed us and tried to kill the Lord of the Farlan. For that, execution is the only response.'

'It's a merciful one,' growled Lahk, more to himself than anyone else.

The countess pointedly ignored him. 'But Duke Certinse is a man of title, of position in society. It is hardly seemly that he be treated like a common criminal. And Lord Isak has not yet been officially confirmed as Lord of the Farlan, so there could be legalities to compli-cate and prolong the trial.'